


come on mess me up

by soyicedcoffee



Series: come on mess me up [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Hand Jobs, Other, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyicedcoffee/pseuds/soyicedcoffee
Summary: “Sorry to bother you. I just thought I’d stop by and check if you needed anything?”The words themselves were unassuming, and on their face perfectly reasonable, if a bit strange. It was his tone that gave him away - his rhythm of speech, the breathiness of his voice, and the undeniable pause between his last two words that even I could pick up on. That beat, between needed and anything, held in it everything I desired.





	come on mess me up

**Author's Note:**

> just some enbydom smut ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (yes I did make up that word like femdom but non-binary I fully expect it will be added to the OED by the end of the year)

I’d like to say for certain _this_ is when it started. This is the moment I knew what he wanted from me. This is the moment he knew.

Maybe it was on that evening last February, when we all went out for drinks for Maria’s birthday and he kept his foot pressed to mine under the table all night. Not moving, not anything, just a steady pressure that had my heart in my throat all night long. Maybe it was the way he saw what drink I ordered and kept them coming for me. No words between us, but a fresh glass always replacing my empties, accompanied by only the barest brush of eye contact. Intentional but always yielding. I thought he might try to get me to go home with him that night - I would have gone, and not only because he’d spent a fortune on overpriced gin and tonics for me. But he left early, before anyone else, hugging Maria, waving to the table at large, and escaping out the front door into the cold.

Or maybe it was before that. When I think about it, it almost certainly was. Could it have been as early as that first day I started, when he came to my office and set up my computer? The almost shy way he’d stood in the doorway, equipment in hand. When he kneeled under my desk to hook everything up, murmuring as he fiddled with the tangle of wires. That’s when it started for me, certainly - although I hate to admit it, that I was so taken with him that first day we met. When he’d looked up from his knees and said _sorry, this might take a few minutes_, with an apologetic, self-effacing smile. The jolt in my stomach - strong enough to make me dizzy.

Or how about this - when he came to my office to show me some new software and his nails were painted a soft pink. I swear I didn’t hear a word he said, I couldn’t stop looking at those hands - somehow both large and exquisitely delicate - with perfectly manicured nails. I remember his hair was pulled back in a bun that day, exposing his long neck, and his beard had grown in a little, past the point of stubble, all gorgeous brown and red. I was terrified if I opened my mouth I was going to lose my mind and say something really dumb, likely exposing myself as a massive perv, so I stayed silent, nodding along when it seemed like he expected me to. _Does that make sense?_ Mmhmm. Yeah. Definitely.

Regardless. The culmination of all this was a night in June, not distinguishable from any other night in any concrete way. I was working late, which I did often, if only because the office was air conditioned and comfortable, and I hated the commute home at 5. I was glad to stay until 7 or 8 if it meant avoiding the rush on the train. It was nearing 8:30 by then, and I was toying with the idea of making my way home to my apartment. My eyes were aching from the monitor light, anyway, and I thought another read through of this document might finally be my undoing. I could picture the six pack I’d been keeping in my fridge, cold and waiting for me to get drunk enough I’d regret ruining my Saturday morning.

The knock on my door was so soft it didn’t startle me. It did surprise me, since I had assumed everyone was already gone - it wasn’t the kind of office where people willingly worked after hours on a Friday. When I spun in my chair it was him I saw standing there, half in my office, hand on the door jamb.

“Oh,” I said, which was very eloquent of me.

“May I come in?” His voice was as soft as his knock, but it wasn’t hesitant. Gentle but certain.

“Of course,” I said, and the stark, raspy sound of my voice jarred me, overly loud in the quiet of the empty room. He stepped into the office, and he shut the door behind him. He didn’t let it fall shut, he shut it. It was moment of quiet intention that had my heart beating double, triple time in my chest. My brain was, of course, working a mile a minute, providing explanations like he has some super secret IT stuff to tell me, or he’s going to shout at me for my unprofessional behaviour - I couldn’t pinpoint any behaviour I’d displayed to that point that could be considered unprofessional, but I also knew that if he accused me I would have trouble defending myself, if only because I knew how seriously unprofessional I was getting with him in my head every time he strolled past my office.

He walked toward me, and in an anxious moment (I was still certain that he was gearing up to tear me a new one about IT related crimes I imagined I may have committed - had I broken some vital piece of hardware? Accidentally downloaded a virus to the office network?) I spun back around in my chair, facing my laptop. The screen had dimmed, but I made no move to illuminate it, just stared at the faint outlines barely perceptible on the display. When he finally stopped, he was standing very close to me. So close that his knee was brushing the side of my thigh. I gasped, but tried valiantly to disguise it as a deep intake of breath.

I thought of a thousand things to say to break the silence, all of which basically amounted to “what’s up?” In the end, it was him who broke it.

“Sorry to bother you. I just thought I’d stop by and check if you needed anything?”

The words themselves were unassuming, and on their face perfectly reasonable, if a bit strange. It was his tone that gave him away - his rhythm of speech, the breathiness of his voice, and the undeniable pause between his last two words that even I could pick up on. That beat, between needed and anything, held in it everything I desired. It felt like everything I’d _ever_ desired - six months isn’t a long time, but it felt like an eternity that I’d looked at him and not been allowed anything more. In that moment I realized I could have had it all even sooner, had I had the courage. He’d found the courage, with that simple come on, or maybe he’d just gotten tired of waiting for me to realize. Looking back, his first come on had probably been that night at the bar five months previous, and I’d been too stupid and clueless in the intervening months to act on it.

“Oh,” I said again, and I turned to face him. I don’t think I’ll be able to describe how absolutely devastating he looked standing there, illuminated only by the warm light of my desk lamp. His long brown hair was down, falling to his shoulders, and the stubble was there too, looking even more red than usual in the dim light. The bow of his lips is what really got me - the delicate but pronounced ridge of his top lip, and the fullness of his bottom lip, and where they came together over slightly crooked teeth. I realized, with barely concealed glee, that I could look all I wanted, and so my eyes hovered there for so long that he must have noticed. He was wearing this white button up shirt with black polka dots (he wore it all the time, so I was achingly familiar with it - it was one of my favourites) and a pair of lace up black doc martens that only served to emphasize how skinny his legs were in their black jeans. It struck me that if he walked out then, and all I had gotten was a good and thorough look at him, I would have been able to live with it. It could have been enough.

“So, do you need anything? Or want anything? From me?” He shied away from my gaze a little, which I can’t fault him for because it must have been kind of intense. I could see his bashfulness in the way he tilted his head, averted his eyes.

I finally, thank the saints, managed to choke out a phrase. “Am I misreading this?” I asked, and my voice sounded less nervous than I felt, which emboldened me to slide my hand toward his where it was resting on the light wood veneer of my desk. I rested my fingertips on his, and I saw how it made him swallow, and it struck me how desperately I wanted to fuck up the perfect skin of his throat with my mouth.

“I hope not,” he finally replied, and this time his voice had a reedy note of desperation behind it that sparked in me the kind of aggressive urge that only accompanies the feeling that you’re about to get what you want most. “What do you want from me?”

“Anything?” I murmured, and he nodded without hesitation, which aroused me so much that I could feel it in my extremities, like the desire was coursing through the blood in my veins. “Will you promise to tell me if there’s something you don’t want?”

He nodded again. His mouth was dropped open just a little, and it was making me fucking crazy. “I need you to say it.”

“Yes, yes, I promise,” he said, and it sounded so close to begging. Despite the distance between me sitting in my office chair and him standing at his considerable height, I could see how blown his pupils were, and his eyelids looked heavy, like he was fighting a little to keep his eyes all the way open.

I took a second to close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Okay. I want you on your fucking knees, then,” I said, matter of fact and commanding. I felt relieved when the words left my mouth, and I realized that this is what I’d been yearning to say to him all along. He obeyed immediately, like I knew he would, but I shook my head. “No,” I gestured with my chin to a point on the other side of my small office, maybe five feet away from where I was sitting. “Not here. Over there.” He obediently crossed the room and knelt there on the floor, facing me. He looked at me searchingly, waiting.

“Are you hard?” I asked, voice low. I knew the answer, it was obvious through the tight fabric of his jeans.

“Yes,” he replied, voice husky. His cheeks were flushed a hectic, sweet pink that had my palms itching to slap him. I wondered if he’d let me, if he’d want me to.

“I want to watch you touch yourself. Will you do that for me?”

He took a sharp breath and broke eye contact, looking away shyly, and I wondered whether he was playing at coyness for my benefit, knowing it would get me off, or if I’d really embarrassed him. “O-okay,” he said eventually, “yeah.”

“Do you want to safeword?” I checked, and he chuckled a little, like the thought of stopping was laughable. It was laughable for me too.

“God, no,” he said, and reached for the button on his jeans. He looked up at me before continuing, waiting for my OK, and his obedience knocked the breath out of me. I nodded, urging him on, and he popped the button on his pants and slid down his fly.

When he finally pulled his briefs down, revealing his hard cock, the whispered, drawn out _fuck_ I let out was involuntary. It made him smirk a little, and I let him, even though I wanted to slap it off his beautiful face. He was at once exactly as I expected and a thousand times more gorgeous than that, all hard and as red as the flush that had bloomed on his cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” I said, and my aloof tone must have worked for him because he let out a little groan that went straight to my cunt. I spread my legs a little, canting my hips, and I saw his eyes track the movement as he finally started stroking himself. “Show me how you like it. But don’t make yourself come, please.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, and I watched him squeeze himself, running his thumb over the bead of precome on the tip of his cock.

“Yes…?” I prompted, raising an eyebrow, and he looked back at me, eyes wide and lost. It was clear how much he wanted to please me, and it had me shifting in my seat. I was teasing, because I knew he couldn’t have known what I wanted him to call me. “How about yes, sir?” I offered, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Yes, sir. Please.” He was babbling a little, eyes falling shut as his hand picked up pace. The slick, obscene sounds of him touching himself filled the room.

“Hey. Look at me,” I demanded, and his eyes snapped open. “You like calling me sir?”

“Yes, sir.” Every time he said it, my brain abruptly felt like it was filled with TV static, and I had to blink a couple of times to refocus.

“And you like kneeling for me, don’t you?”

“Christ, yeah,” he replied, and he sounded wrecked. “That- that first day, in your office-“

“I know,” I nodded. “I was so turned on after that. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

He squeezed his eyes shut again, hand stilling, and I could tell he was trying not to come.

“Come here,” I said, and he scrambled over without hesitation, crawling without being asked, cock bobbing between his legs. I felt a slow, predatory smile spread over my face. “That’s a good boy,” I murmured appreciatively. Up so close he was even more beautiful, looking up at me from between my legs. His eyelashes were all dark and clumped together with moisture, and his bottom lip was bitten red. I reached out and stroked my hand over his cheek, brushing my thumb gently over his mouth, and it struck me that it was the first time I’d ever really gotten to touch him. He opened his lips, drawing my thumb into the exquisite wet heat of his mouth, and I pressed down on his tongue. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. You drive me crazy,” I could hear in my tone how much I meant it. He looked down, and the way his eyelashes fanned over his cheeks had my breath catching in my throat. I pinched and pulled his bottom lip hard between my thumb and forefinger. Like a fish caught on a hook, but he didn’t resist, just went where I pulled him.

I threaded my other hand through his hair, and found it was as soft as it looked. I pulled hard, and he let out a throaty moan, head tilting back and exposing his throat. “Can I slap you?” I asked, voice low. I asked on impulse, knowing it might be too much, and irresponsible, and under negotiated.

He breathed in sharply. “Yes, please,” he said. I stroked the palm of my hand languidly over his jaw, unhurried, other hand still firmly anchored in his hair. He leaned into my hand, even though it must have made his hair pull tighter. “Sir, please hit me,” he finally begged. He begged like he really needed it, looking up at me pleadingly, biting his lip. I pulled my hand back and slapped him hard across the face, hard enough that he might have lost his balance if not for my grip in his hair. The side of his face glowed a hot red, and my palm burned. I finally broke and pressed the heel of my hand hard against my crotch, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

“You’re perfect like this,” I said. He swayed a little on his knees, rubbing his face adoringly against the inside of my jean clad knee, up my inner thigh. It must have been making the burn worse, but he didn’t seem to care. I could tell he was completely under then, by the unselfconscious, open way he gazed up at me. I reeled back and hit him again, on his other cheek, and he barely reacted beyond the broken moan that escaped his lips. “So fucking pretty. I wish you could see yourself right now. Taking everything I give you. You’d take anything from me, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded. “I would,” he whispered, adorably sincere.

“Okay. Get undressed, then, please.”

He paused at that, and surprise registered on his face, but just for a second. “Yes, sir,” he said, and started undoing the buttons of his shirt with unsteady hands. My hands itched to help him, but instead I just sat back in my chair and watched, body thrumming with anticipation.

“Are you going to…” he trailed off, gesturing to my clothes, which I was making no move to remove.

I smiled, amused. “I wasn’t planning on it, no,” I replied. “I think it would be kind of degrading, to get undressed in such a public place.” He breathed out, a whoosh of air that sounded like it was being punched from his lungs.

He had to sit back on his ass to untie his boots, and he pulled his jeans and briefs off clumsily, cock bouncing against his stomach. His usually languid movements were all stilted and awkward, but he was unabashed as he sat back between my legs. I just looked at him for a while, for as long as I felt like, because I could. The dark trail of hair under his belly button; His lanky body which was, to my great pleasure, just as lanky underneath his clothes, with only the barest muscle definition in his arms; The narrow line of his chest and hips.

“Come up here,” I said, patting my lap, and he stood slowly, gingerly, knees were all red and stiff from kneeling on the rough office carpeting.

“How… how do you want me?” he asked, unsure, and I grabbed him by the hips and pulled him toward me, manhandling him into place straddling my lap. He was easy to move, all pliant under my grip.

“Like this,” I breathed. He gripped the chair behind my head with one hand for stability. He had to stoop to look at me, looming over me, hair falling into his eyes.

“Put your hair back for me, please,” I said, gesturing to the black elastic band around his wrist, and he did it, brushing through his hair with his fingers and tying it up in a bun. “That’s better, isn’t it? You look pretty like that.”

He smiled a bit and shook his head. “Do you like when I tell you how pretty you are?” I leaned in and brushed my lips over his throat, and I felt him shiver. “How about when I tell you what a good boy you are?”

He made a high keening sound, loud in the quiet of my office. “Because you are. Such a good boy for me. Even better than I thought you’d be.”

I can see the blush flare in his cheeks, all down his neck. “Thank you, sir,” he said quietly.

“And I’ve thought about it a lot. I’ve masturbated about it a lot, too,” I admitted. I snaked a hand between us, getting my hand on his cock and squeezing. He visibly shuddered, and I took my hand away, holding it up to his face. He licked my palm, and I wrapped my hand around him again, stroking slowly.

“What do you think about?” he asked breathlessly.

“Hmmm. What do I think about?” I kept up the slow, steady pace, and I could see how it was making his thighs shake. “I mostly think about pegging you,” I said, and his cock twitched in my hand. I smiled. “Would you like that? Would you let me fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted, “please, fuck yes.”

I picked up the pace of my hand, and he was getting more vocal by the second, thrusting his hips. “Shhh, you’re okay,” I murmured, cradling the back of his neck in my palm. “Can I kiss you?” I asked, and he nodded eagerly, leaning down and slotting our lips together. It was intense and hungry, teeth clacking awkwardly, and his moans were muffled against my mouth.

“Are you almost there?” I asked against his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m really, really close.”

“You can come, baby. It’s okay.” I pulled him down to kiss him sloppily, licking into his mouth. “I want you to come for me,” I said, voice low and demanding. I slid my hand from the back of his neck to the front, squeezing the sides of his throat – just hard enough so he could feel it.

He trembled as he spilled over my hand with a quiet, bitten off moan. I stroked him through it, kissing him softly on the mouth, then the cheek, then the side of his jaw. He rested his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. I reached behind me blindly, searching for the Kleenex box I kept on my desk to clean up.

We were silent for a long stretch, just breathing in tandem. I rested my hand on his lower back and started rubbing small circles into his skin. He hummed a little in response, small smile on his face.

When he opened his eyes, they were all dozy and tired looking. “Do you want me to do anything for you?” he asked, eyes flicking to my crotch.

“Mm-mm,” I shook my head, pulling the hair tie out of his hair and letting it fall back down over his shoulders.

He looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I can-“ I cut him off with a kiss.

“When I want you to do something, you’ll know it.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I kind of got that.”


End file.
